I'm 21 and a student at
the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign where I'm studying molecular and
cellular biology which you can surmise has nothing to do with writing or
really creativity as a whole. Most of the stuff I read today is garbage,
nothing like the classics: by classics I mean you know what I fucking mean.
This is not to say that what I've written is anything like Hemingway or
McCarthy: I'm not so pretentious to think so, not yet anyway. What I can say
is that I'm pretty good, I'll likely get better. I figure if that pre-teen,
gloomy, nauseating rom-com Twilight bullshit can get published so can I. I
hope so, or maybe society is too far gone and we should all submit to
walking into the sea, large stones in our hands, with the hope that we'll
all suddenly develop gills. Also, if that wretched excuse for a swamp-thing,
Snookie, can get people to read her book then I, with at least half a
functioning brain, should
 win the damn Pulitzer. Anyway, I digress, I'm 21, from a well to do family
living in the 54th most affluent suburb in the U.S., I drink gin and scotch,
I'm an atheist and in general have a very sensible view about most things;
as for the rest, well, shit I'm only 21. I yams what I yams.